


not zombies (she hates that word)

by bs13



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, day 4 of Roisa week - apocalypse/post-apocalyptic, i tried to write for roisa week and failed, so here is the only fic i actually finished lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: The world's going to shit and the dead are suddenly coming to life, but the biggest surprise of Luisa's week is that her father's young girlfriend shows up on her doorstep.





	not zombies (she hates that word)

**Author's Note:**

> i've written so many roisa fics that never got completed or posted but i finally buckled down to write this - i couldn't NOT write for these two. they were my first wlw ship ever and were a big part of helping me realize i wasn't straight so um basically i owe them my life??
> 
> there are some descriptions of guns & blood and stuff but nothing too graphic so if that's not your thing, feel free to quit before ur ahead! i understand if u do - zombies freak me the fuck out i don't know why i wrote this.
> 
> .bad angst and rushed endings are going to be my villain origin story.

Rose looks younger when she's asleep.

Luisa doesn't let herself linger longer than to gaze at Rose a few seconds, and then she pushes herself out of the warmth of the bed. The hardwood floor is chilly against her bare feet, and the cold water she splashes on her face even more so. The cracked, dirty mirror in the bathroom offers a distorted view of her face, but it's enough to see the bags under her eyes, the mascara smudged on her cheeks.

She hears a siren wail faintly outside. It sounds like an ambulance, but ambulances haven't been running since they lost the hospital two months ago. Likely someone's stolen it and is having some sort of twisted laugh.

Luisa washes the mascara off her face and tries not to think. If she thinks, then she'll have to start asking questions. Like why her dad's young, very young girlfriend, turned up on her doorstep. And why he's not here with her.

A banging sound on the wall helps distract her. It means Rafael's up. Luisa slips out of her bedroom and finds him leaning against his doorway, staring blankly into Luisa's guest room where his wife and daughters are sleeping. He looks even worse than she does, eyes bloodshot like he hasn't slept a wink.

"Why is she here," Rafael mutters. There's not even a question in his words. "Why isn't _he_ here."

"I don't know," Luisa says. They've met Rose, sure. Once or twice, before their father whisked her away on beach vacations and plane trips to Europe. But they don't know her, not really. They know she's young. That's it.

"You should have put her on the couch," Rafael says, pushing off the doorway and heading down the hallway.

"You know it's not safe." Luisa follows him, shutting both their bedroom doors quietly behind them.

The living room is proof enough. A week ago Luisa's place was ransacked, and the remains of the burglary haven't been cleaned up. Her glass coffee table is in smithereens, the couch slashed, the few picture frames she owned gone. She'd thankfully been gone when they raided her rooms, but she'd come home to broken mirrors and missing jewelry and it had been so jarring she might as well have been physically robbed.

Rafael starts the kettle on the stove, scraping the last of the coffee into four mugs. Luisa wordlessly starts up a pot of instant oatmeal, the kind that comes in little bags. Their water is still running, but there's not telling as to when it'll run out. For now, they use as much as they dare.

"Doesn't she have other family?" Rafael asks. "We can't let her stay. She's only going to be a liability."

"What if she has no where to go? Raf," Luisa warns, "Dad would want us to."

"Yeah, well, Dad isn't here." Rafael angrily slams the empty coffee container into the trash.

They don't talk again until the water's done. Then Rafael fills the mugs and stirs in the meager amount of coffee, handing Luisa one of them before picking up his own. It's more hot water than coffee, the usual bitterness watered down to nearly nothing. Luisa doesn't even stir sugar in it.

Petra wakes up soon afterwards. She takes one of the mugs and sits down on the ruined couch, half-asleep but eyes wide open as if haunted. She only stays long enough to drain her cup, and then she goes back to bed with the girls to wait for them to wake up.

Luisa takes out chipped bowls and spoons for the oatmeal. "So what's the plan?" she asks. "We can't stay inside forever."

"We'll have to go get more food soon," Rafael says. "But how are we going to do that? All stores have already been emptied. People are leaving town and taking supplies with them, to go bunker down south. Apparently the country's been untouched."

"So only the big cities are suffering, huh," Luisa snorts. "I find that hard to believe."

"That's what the talk is." Rafael gives her a rare smile over the rim of his cup. "I don't believe it either."

Luisa sits down in one of the kitchen chairs and sighs, rolling her shoulders in hope that it might give her aching back some relief. "Go be there for your kids," she says after a moment. "They'll want to see you when they wake up."

He doesn't argue, and the sound of his feet padding on the floor lets her know he's taken her advice. Luisa sips at her coffee and stares at the ancient clock hanging on her wall. The glass was smashed off it too—for reasons unknown except to make a mess, maybe—but it stays ticking, off-sync and jerky. Background noise. Convenient.

"Luisa. Right?"

Luisa jumps, nearly dropping her mug onto the floor. " _Jesus_ ," she says, whirling around. It's Rose, pale and gripping an oversized sweater draped over her shoulders, but Luisa doesn't relax. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I thought you'd, um, sleep in or something."

"I couldn't sleep," Rose says.

"Right. Coffee?"

Rose takes the last mug, likely lukewarm by now. If she has anything to say about how shitty it is, she doesn't voice it aloud. She just leans against the center island and sips at her cup, eyes taking in everything she likely didn't see the night before; she had all but collapsed into Luisa's bed when it was offered.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," Rose says after a moment. "I shouldn't have come."

"It's okay," Luisa says, but Rose ignores her.

"It's my fault," she goes on, and when she turns to face Luisa her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "It's all my fault."

Luisa's mouth feels dry, unable to form words, but she croaks it out anyway. "My father—"

Rose bites her lip and looks away, and Luisa knows the answer.

.

.

.

Rose stays in Luisa's room. It's the only option.

Rafael looks at his sister like she's crazy. And then alarmed, when she lets slip that Rose has slept in her bed for the three days she's been here, too. "Luisa. You're kidding," he says. "She's not five, you don't have to coddle her."

"I'm not going to make her sleep on the _floor_. Don't be a dick about it."

"Just because she was married to Dad doesn't mean—"

"She's family, Raf. Can you drop it? Dad loved her," Luisa snaps. "That's enough for me."

"And she probably loved Dad for his money." Rafael doesn't get mad often, but he's absolutely simmering now, bubbling past a breaking point because he doesn't have answers. Rose hasn't said anything explicit about what happened to their father. Luisa doesn't need the details, but Rafael is going mad trying to figure it out.

"You know, just because the world's gone to shit doesn't mean you have to be an asshole about it," Luisa says. "It wouldn't kill you to be nice."

"You're too much of an optimist sometimes."

"Guess we balance each other out," Luisa says. She taps her fingers on the edge of the porch rail and tries very hard not to think about the tequila stashed under her bed, squinting out into the darkening sky.

It's always quiet at night. No one dares to be caught outside, lest they fall victim to an attack they don't see coming. There haven't been many sightings, here. A few here and there at most. But people aren't taking risks. The horror stories have already begun to spread and it's always a question of _who's next_?

"You coming in?" Rafael asks after a pause, changing the subject. "Petra's making dinner and I don't know if I trust her."

"You go ahead," Luisa says, not looking back at him. "I'll catch up."

He doesn't shut the door behind him when he leaves. Luisa grips the rail tighter and stares holes into the front door neighbor's house, the one that's been long abandoned. Both of its front windows are broken, large and black and gaping, as if working to swallow the light from the houses around it.

A creak of the rickety wood of the porch startles her. Rose quietly comes to stand beside her, hair wet and smelling sweet—like flowers, maybe. If Luisa were better at pinpointing the specific kind, she'd have something to joke about. _Not roses_? Or, _roses? Living up to the name?_

But she stays silent instead. Until Rose speaks.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," Luisa says. "You just surprised me."

Rose nods, slowly. "Your dad," she says, "he said that I should come here. If anything happened."

"Which it did," Luisa says. "I'm assuming."

"Yes." Rose sounds clinical about it, so much so that Luisa turns to look at her curiously. Rose doesn't look upset this time, just calm. "It was...ugly." She meets Luisa's eyes and there's a hint of—of _something_ just lingering in her gaze. Something tired, something wary. "I don't know how much you've seen."

"That bad, huh," Luisa tries to joke, but her voice shakes and she has to tear her eyes away, focusing right back on the house across the street. It's easier to stare into those windows than Roses's eyes. At least the windows she can understand.

"I don't plan to stay long," Rose says. "For the record. I know your brother isn't too keen on me staying."

"Everyone has their way of staying sane." Luisa shrugs. "Raf's is just to whine over anything he can. You can—you're welcome to stay. However long you need. Or want."

Rose tilts her head. "Thank you," she says after a moment, "but I don't think that'll be necessary."

And then she turns and leaves.

.

.

.

Rose doesn't sleep much at night.

Luisa wouldn't complain if she weren't so hyperaware of Rose tossing and turning so much. Her bed isn't very big to begin with, so they're always waking up somehow tangled up in each other; Luisa sprawled over Rose's shoulder, Rose's hair tickling Luisa's nose. That, however, she can blame on unconscious Luisa's decisions. Awake Luisa is much less fickle. But significantly more _awake_.

Eventually Rose slips out of bed, breaking one of the unspoken rules: don't leave your room at night. Ever. Luisa stares up at the ceiling and tries not to groan. This woman is going to be the death of her, and it only takes her two seconds before she's shoving the blankets off and scrambling after her.

"Rose?" she whispers, then repeats it slightly louder. "Rose!"

Rose is in the kitchen, working on lighting a cigarette, and she jerks her head sideways when she notices Luisa.

"Did I wake you?" she asks, bewildered. "I'm sorry. I just don't do too well with darkness."

"Well everyone has to be a little afraid of the dark," Luisa says. "Are you—okay?"

"That's the question of the hour." Rose smiles bitterly, twirling the unlit cigarette between her fingers. "I thought I could handle it. But watching Emilio die..." She trails off. "You don't want to hear this. I'm sorry."

"No," Luisa says, "it's fine. I feel like I should know."

A pause. "I could sit here and lie to you," Rose muses. "Tell you it was quick. Painless. But it wasn't. He was ripped apart so slowly, and I couldn't—" She inhales sharply. "God, I need a drink."

"I can help you out with that," Luisa offers before she realizes what she's doing, but she doesn't dare take it back, not when Rose lights up for the first time since she's met her.

She pours Rose straight tequila into a chipped mug, then gets a glass of water for herself.

"None for you?" Rose asks, already taking a sip.

"Thirty-four days sober," Luisa says, and she raises her cup in a mock-toast.

"Gotcha," Rose says, an edge of a smile on her lips. "I know what it's like to try to quit the drug world. Not easy."

Luisa nods and looks down into her cup, unsure of even what to say. In the background, the clock continues to tick in its imperfect way, the sound somehow seemingly louder in the dark.

"Sightings are only going to increase from here on out," Rose says suddenly. "I don't suppose you have any weapons."

"Not unless you count butter knives," Luisa quips.

Rose goes serious all at once. "You'll need protection," she says. "It's only going to get worse from here on out."

"I don't think it'll be as easy as in the movies," Luisa snorts. "We'll need to, what, get a couple of guns? Be the dumbasses that hunt down zombies?"

The word _zombies_ hangs heavy on her tongue. She's never said that word. Not out loud. It's always been vague—there's _sightings_ , there's _movement_ , there's _something_ lurking in the corners of the streets. The word zombies seems cheap, fake because of how easily it had been joked about before; it's entirely too silly for such a grim thing.

"There's nothing wrong with protecting your family," Rose says, and her eyes glitter dangerously in the low light. "No matter the cost."

Rose doesn't go back to sleep. But she lets Luisa convince her to come back to the bed, just so she's not alone in the living room, and Luisa has to uncomfortably fall asleep listening to the quick, lively way Rose breathes.

.

.

.

Rose disappears one early morning.

Luisa doesn't know if she's gone for good, but the bed is cold when she wakes. She doesn't know if she feels upset or not. Rafael doesn't say a word when Rose doesn't show up for breakfast, but Luisa can see he's relieved. He's always so worried about hypotheticals—what if the water stops running, what if they need to relocate, what if, what if, what if.

Luisa wishes it were easier.

"We can't stay here forever, Rafael," Petra says over their oatmeal. "This place is going to become a ghost town. My mother—"

"Your mother was in prison, Petra," Rafael cuts her off. "Forgive me if I'm not rushing to see her."

Luisa clears her throat. A warning. "Hey," she says brightly to Elsa and Anna, "do you guys want to play hide and seek?"

"Yes!" they chorus, and Petra lets them go, spooning their unfinished breakfast into the rest of their bowls.

There's nowhere to hide, really, in the living room. Anna wants to go outside, but Luisa doesn't want to risk hiding out there, so she suggests a change in game. Tag in broad daylight—that should be safe.

No one's outside again. Sometimes a car will roll down the street, packed to the brim with someone moving out again, but mostly it's just empty. The girls are far more energetic than Luisa can keep up with, but for a second it doesn't matter. They're having fun, real fun, and they get to be kids and be normal for an hour. That's enough.

Then a crash sounds from the neighbor's backyard.

Anna slows to a stop before the gate. "What's that?" she asks.

Luisa jogs over to where she is, breathing hard. "I don't know," she gasps, "but let's not crowd the neighbors, okay? It's probably just a dog."

Elsa comes over to where they are too, blond hair whipping across her face. She looks older than eight all at once, serious when she asks, "Is it a zombie?"

"What?" Luisa nearly gives herself whiplash turning to stare at her. "Where would you get that idea?"

"It's on all the radios," Elsa says. "Dad leaves them on."

"There are no zombies here, okay?" Luisa says. "Not in our town. Come on, let's go inside. Your parents are going to be—"

Anna screams.

Thinking back, Luisa wishes she'd done much more than shove Anna behind her. She should've run, she should've yelled for help, she should've told the girls to leave—but all she did was stumble backwards, heart in her throat, as she looked at a zombie for the first time ever. Grainy photos and poor footage could not have prepared her for this, to see the caved-in face, to smell the rotting flesh, to hear the raspy inhuman groans as it sluggishly threw itself against the gate.

There's something poetic about the undead, to have something both alive and not. It's easy to see the parts where human meets monster, where faded clothing becomes tattered, where heavy limbs become stumps, where yellowing teeth merge into gray, bloody cheeks.

Anna screams again and it's because the thing—the _zombie_ , God Luisa hates that word—is still pushing against the gate and the old wood is groaning, about to give out, and Luisa scrambles to shove the girls in the direction of the house when—

 _Bang_. A gunshot.

Blood sprays up the side of the house, and the zombie falls backward, lovely bullet hole square in the forehead glistening, onto the floor with a _squelch_ as if it's fallen in mud.

Elsa throws up, and Anna—a sympathy vomiter—follows suit. Luisa feels bile crawling up her own throat, hot and burning, but she swallows it down and turns around. She doesn't know what she expects to see, but the sight of Rose lowering a smoking pistol would certainly be last on her list.

"That was stupid," Rose says, stalking close enough to grip Luisa's shoulders. She's fuming, fingers digging ruthlessly into Luisa's skin, dangerous and awe-inspiring all at once. "No, that was _reckless_. You're supposed to _run_ , not stand there like a fucking statue!"

"You came back," is all that comes out of Luisa's mouth. "Why?"

Rose lets go, suddenly cold. "I had to," she says, and she slings her gun into her waistband and stalks towards the house.

Luisa's hands are shaking when she nudges the girls after her. "Come on," she breathes, "I'll make you guys some tea."

.

.

.

Rose has begun to teach them how to shoot.

She hasn't been much how Luisa remembered her, that first week she stayed, quiet and teary and keeping to herself. Now she's colder that she's come back with a bag full of weapons, more impersonal. She doesn't mention Emilio Solano, nor does she say much to Luisa anymore. But she stays in Luisa's bed still, as if somehow sensing that Luisa doesn't do too well alone.

"How did you learn how to shoot?" Luisa asks, once, when it's long dark and they both can't sleep.

Rose's hair is loose on her pillow, shoulders relaxed, but her voice is tense when she says, "That doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"Are you a ex-con? Is that it?" Luisa tries to joke, but it falls deathly quiet and she wonders if she's said something wrong.

It takes a minute for Rose to speak again. "Would it matter?"

Luisa shivers and tries to blame it on the cold, burrowing unconsciously closer to Rose under the sheets. "No," she says. "Well. Maybe to Raf it would."

"I'm not proud of who I used to be," Rose says. "But your father...he helped me. He was a good man."

It hurts, suddenly, to think about him. "Did you love him?" Luisa asks softly. Her words hang in the air, heavier than intended.

"Yes," Rose says, but there's an apology in the way she says next, "Just not in the way you think."

"Did he know that?"

"No," Rose says. She rolls over on her side so she's facing Luisa, and it could be just the soft moonlight rolling in from the window, but something about her face then and there reminds Luisa of an angel. "I accepted your father's proposal because I didn't want to lose him. It was selfish of me."

"It was smart of you," Luisa says. Her fingers twitch with the urge to trace Rose's face, suddenly. "I wish we were enough to make him stay. Maybe then he'd..." She doesn't finish. Can't finish.

"Family was everything to him," Rose says. "I can see why."

Luisa turns so she's facing the ceiling, unable to look at Rose any longer. "You feel like you owe him something," she says. "So you came here."

"I owed you the truth," Rose says. "I told you I don't plan to stay."

"Do you have family?"

Rose scoffs. "No," she says. "They're no family of mine."

"I get that you're this—robot, lone star, whatever," Luisa says. "But won't that get lonely?"

"Maybe," says Rose. "But you don't have to pretend you care. You don't know me and I don't know you; don't waste your time."

"Okay. Sure. Quick question though—does this broody thing work? Like in general. Because it's a little predictable," Luisa says. "I'm sure you're a real hit with men."

Rose laughs, and it's so genuine it's jarring. "The day I try to appeal to men," she says, "is the day _I'm_ one of those scum walkers."

A laugh of her own escapes Luisa's lips, unbidden but oddly free. "Alright, you got me," she says. "You're human. I stand corrected."

"Well, so long as we understand each other." Rose's smile is wide, the corners of her mouth crinkling beautifully when Luisa turns to look at her.

She hates that the first thing she thinks is, _I see why Dad fell in love with her._

.

.

.

Rose isn't half bad with the girls.

Sure, they're sort of scared of her. That's a given. But it's Rose they flock to when they want to hear a story before bed, something about the places she's visited. Greece, Italy, France—Anna and Elsa can't get enough of the idea of traveling. Petra sits with them and listens, just as enraptured, offering her own small pieces of knowledge of the places she's been while Rafael and Luisa usually do dishes or clean up.

Rafael's given up on hating Rose. He still doesn't trust her, but he's not dumb enough to hate the woman who saved his daughters. Luisa likes to think he has common sense and realizes that Rose is genuinely a good person too, but then again he's Rafael. He's got his head up his ass about everything.

Tonight, Petra takes the girls to bed early. Rafael, Rose, and Luisa sit around the kitchen table listening to the radio; Rose keeps a journal that she uses to document the newest developments, taking notes of sightings and places rumored to be free of them as the radio plays.

There's a lull in news for a minute and that's when Rafael asks, "So how did our dad die, exactly?"

"Raf," Luisa warns, exasperated at how he's bringing this up now of all times, "now is not the time."

"Then when is?" Rafael looks at Rose, jaw tightening. "Look. I'm not trying to be rude about it, but I'd like to know."

"What do you want to know?" Rose's voice is sharp. "I'm not trying to hide the truth."

"Maybe not," Rafael says. "But you sure have been hiding a lot."

"Well if you're so keen on knowing," Rose says wryly. "Our villa was...infected, and we had to leave. Your father went to bring the car around and when he didn't come back, I had to go find him. But I wasn't the only one who found him." She closes her journal carefully, making sure not once to break eye contact with Rafael as she finishes, "I saw him being ripped apart by a horde of monsters and I had to run away before they got me, too. Does that answer your question?"

Rafael's chair scrapes the kitchen floor loudly as he jerks out of it. It's too much; Luisa knows it's too much; she tries to reach for his hand but he flinches away, turning on his heel to disappear down the hallway and into the guest room without another word.

"I don't think he likes me very much," Rose muses, opening her journal again. "Can you pass me the blue pen?"

Luisa does. "He's going through a lot," she says. Rafael has always had more hang-ups about the unsaid things he and their father hadn't shared. "He just needs time. To process."

"Everyone has their demons," Rose says, smearing blue ink on her fingertips. "I don't hold it against him."

Luisa watches as Rose painstakingly spells out two different towns onto paper. "Are you going to go somewhere safer?" she asks.

"Are you?" Rose looks up and smiles, not unkindly. "Luisa, I told you. You don't need to pretend to care."

"Who's pretending?" Luisa slides a black pen across the table when the blue one seems to have burst, staining the corner of the page. "You're family now. And I remember you told me we had to protect our families."

There's an odd look in Rose's eyes, a mix of fondness and exasperation. "I'm touched," she deadpans, "but you don't need to worry about me. I'd worry more about your poor form—you need more training. How are you at hand-to-hand combat?"

"About as good as you are with changing the subject," Luisa says. "I'm sure you can show me a few things."

Rose smirks. "Oh, I'm sure I can."

.

.

.

Rose is a nicer teacher than Luisa remembers.

When teaching how to shoot, she's always shouting, sounding like she's on the brink of anger. But here, positioned loosely across the room with her hands wrapped and her feet bare, she's calm. It's like she's in her element here, skillfully blocking Luisa's clumsy movements, tapping Luisa's shoulders and elbows until she stands the way she's supposed to.

"You're too tense," Rose says, and she sounds dangerously amused as she rests her hand between Luisa's shoulder blades. "Relax."

"Kind of hard to do when you're punching me," Luisa says, but heat crawls up the back of her neck; she wonders if Rose can tell that her cheeks are flushing.

Rose is very close, her touch firm but gentle as her hand moves from Luisa's back down to her waist, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then Rose steps back, the ghost of her touch lingering even when cool air rushes to replace her warmth.

"Come on," Rose prompts. "Again."

"I don't see how learning how to fight is going to help," Luisa insists. "It's not like I can fight a," not _zombie_ , she hates that word, "a walker with my bare hands."

"No, but you're likely going to meet people who will try to rob you," Rose says. "Trust me. I know you've been stuck here since the outbreak started, but traveling is much harder than it looks. Police and military efforts are all directed at walkers, not petty criminals."

"Why does the end of the world bring out the worst in people?" Luisa groans, but she gets into position anyway.

Rose quirks an eyebrow. "The end of the world. Fitting, I suppose."

"That's what the movies say," Luisa says, taking a jab at Rose's throat that Rose easily stops.

"Stop hunching over," Rose says. "You keep looking right where you're aiming for. You're giving yourself away."

"I was a doctor," Luisa huffs, dropping her fists. "Forgive me if I don't know these things."

"And I was a lawyer," Rose says. "That doesn't matter. Now hit me."

Luisa obligingly gets back into position, this time trying to land a tap on Rose's jaw. Rose actually grabs Luisa's fist, throwing her hand away so hard that Luisa yelps.

" _Ow_ , hey!" Luisa hisses, indignantly shaking her hand. "Take it easy, I'm a beginner."

"Trust me, no one's doubting that," says Rose with a smirk. "Again."

Luisa lets Rose hand her ass to her for another three rounds before she collapses onto the bed and groans, "I can't feel my arms."

"You haven't done anything, Luisa."

"That doesn't matter. I can't feel my arms."

"You're sweating all over the sheets," Rose laughs, dropping down on the bed herself. She's grinning when Luisa turns to look at her, smile only growing when Luisa sticks her tongue out at her. "You're not that bad, I promise. Come on, just a few more tries?"

"In a bit," Luisa says, brushing her hair away from her forehead. "Let's just—lay here. For now."

Rose goes quiet, and for a moment all they hear is the wind whistling outside, the giggles of Anna and Elsa as they run down the hall, the steady thump from the living room that means Rafael and Petra are trying to dust.

"Tell me about being a doctor," Rose whispers, so low Luisa almost doesn't catch it.

"What about being a doctor?"

"Anything," Rose says. She's so close that Luisa can see the soft blue of her eyes, can see every small freckle dusted across her nose. "Everything."

Luisa swallows. "Okay," she says. She has so many questions of her own on the tip of her tongue, wondering about Rose's past, but she doesn't voice them. Not tonight.

.

.

.

Rose takes her outside, _really_ outside, for the first time since the outbreak.

"You're a doctor," Rose says as she slings her bag over her shoulder, bending over momentarily to retie her shoes. Her shirt rises up slightly, revealing the pistol that's been tucked in her waistband ever since she came back. "You have an opinion, right? About what caused all this."

"I'm not a scientist," Luisa says, shielding her eyes from the sun as she hurries after Rose. Rose is content to stroll down the streets as if nothing. Luisa's much more content to stick to the sidewalks. "But I have a few guesses. Gene mutations, some sort of virus, it could be anything."

"It's not like the movies," Rose says. "Dead people aren't busting out of graves or anything. But people are getting infected from something, and _then_ dying. And miraculously rising from the dead."

"Have you seen it happen?"

"No." Rose comes to an abrupt stop before what used to be an electronics store. "People looted flat-screen TVs? Really?"

"Where are we going, exactly?" Luisa winces as she side-steps a bloody dead cat in the gutter, coming up beside Rose.

Rose stands still, staring into the empty store, then shakes her head. "People are so dumb," she says, and she walks right in.

Luisa doesn't like how creepy it feels outside, with no one out there. It's even gloomier inside the ransacked store, full of nothing but empty shelves and spiderwebs. There's a front desk whose cash register has been cracked open, dollar bills and coins gone save for a handful of pennies. Rose ignores all of it and goes to drag a stool over to the corner of the store, where she peers at the unpowered surveillance camera.

"This is how horror movies start," Luisa sighs, eyes darting back to the exit that looks absolutely entrancing by now.

"Shh," Rose says, then takes a pipe out from her bag and whacks the camera so hard it shatters.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Making sure we're not being monitored," Rose says, jumping off the stool. "Come on, next store."

"Great," Luisa mutters as she follows Rose out, "not only is it a horror movie, but I'm stuck with the government conspiracist character."

Rose is a very determined person, and apparently Luisa's only there as backup to guard the exits. Luisa wasn't aware this was her job, but she accepts it nonetheless; she takes the metal bat Rose gives her and stands in the doorway as Rose destroys any surveillance cameras she can find.

The sun is beginning to set and Luisa's panicking. They're at an old grocery store with significantly more cameras than usual, so Rose is far in the back of the building while Luisa stands in between the pried-open automatic doors that don't work anymore.

"Rose?" Luisa calls when the silence gets too stifling. No answer. She reasons that Rose is likely too far to hear her, so she tries raising her voice a bit. "Rose?

Nothing.

Luisa's fingers tighten over the bat. Her palms are sweating hard, so slick that it's hard to get a good grip on the metal. She's hyperaware of every sound, every movement, so when she hears the dragging sound of something moving in the parking lot her heart nearly jumps out of her chest. She inches forward, out of the doors, just to look. Asses the situation. It could be other people just like her, maybe coming to see if there's anything they can salvage from the stores. No big deal.

But the universe hates her.

If it's one thing movies don't exaggerate, it's the slow movements of the undead. There are two of them, dragging their feet as they stumble in Luisa's direction, glazed eyes white and wide open, blood-smeared mouths gaping as if their jaws are broken. They look older than the one in the neighbor's yard, skin not so much gray as it is green-gray, flesh disintegrating to reveal dingy white hints of bone.

Luisa runs this time. "Rose!" she cries. "Rose, where are you?"

"Luisa?" Rose is on top of a what must have been an old fridge, balancing on the top and trying to hit a camera just out of reach. "What's wrong?"

"There's—there's—" Luisa gestures vaguely in the direction of the exit.

Rose doesn't need to hear the rest. "We'll go out the back," she says, jumping off the fridge with practiced ease. Her jaw is tight, eyes burning as she takes out her pistol. "No matter what, you stay behind me. Got it?"

Luisa nods. She can't trust herself to speak.

Rose with a mission is an unstoppable force, Luisa's come to find out. But even Rose cannot predict that when she force their way out of the emergency back exit that there are _more_ walkers lingering, three this time, one so close that Luisa can smell rotting flesh. Rose is cocking her gun at one of the farther ones, one that's younger—faster too, and Luisa doesn't hesitate to take the bat and swing as hard as she can.

It's sickening, to feel the heavy resistance of the once-human head rattle the bat so hard the vibrations ride up Luisa's arms. The sinking head explodes, a spray of brains and blood erupting as the body drops. Luisa's shaking violently when Rose quickly takes out the other two, whirling around so fast she forgets to lower the gun, aiming it right at Luisa's neck before her body sags and she says,

" _Luisa_ ," in a way that's so broken, so horrified.

Luisa lets Rose hug her tightly, so tightly, even though she knows she's covered in blood. When she buries her face into Rose's shoulder, she wets it with her tears.

"I know," Luisa gasps wetly, "I know that was reckless—"

Rose's hands grip Luisa's back, her waist, so hard it burns. "No," she says, and then she cups Luisa's face in her hands. "No."

"I couldn't—I had to," Luisa swallows a sob. "It was so close to you, I—"

Rose kisses her. Messily, desperately, almost missing Luisa's lips entirely. Luisa doesn't get a chance to kiss back; Rose draws back almost immediately.

"I'm sorry," Rose says, and she's cracking before Luisa's eyes. "I'm sorry."

.

.

.

Rose doesn't mention the kiss.

But she does apologize for everything else. She stays silent when Rafael yells at her, when Petra cries into her hands, when Luisa can't sleep at all that night. But the next morning, as Luisa's finally washing the dried blood off her face, Rose watches from the doorway and says,

"I'm sorry you had to do that."

"You've done it," Luisa says, scrubbing at her cheek furiously.

"Nothing so close range."

"That doesn't matter." Luisa's skin itches, raw and hurting. "It's not a big deal."

"You're not like me, Luisa," Rose says. She enters the bathroom, but doesn't move too close, only locking eyes with Luisa through the mirror. "I don't want you to become me."

"You can't protect me forever," Luisa says, splashing cold water on her face even though she's so cold she's shivering. "I would've had to do it sooner or later. Seriously, it's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have taken you," Rose says. She looks paler than Luisa's ever seen her, hair messy and undone and not in the usual ponytail she wears. "So I'm sorry."

"I wanted to go," Luisa reminds her, looking down into the sink. Streaks of blood linger around the drain, and she halfheartedly splashes more water on them. When she looks up again, Rose is gone.

Luisa waits a few minutes and goes out. Rose isn't in the room anymore. She goes out to the living room just in time to see Rose slip out of the front door, and any words stuck in her throat don't get the chance to come out.

Rafael is sitting at the kitchen table. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"What did you say to her."

"What?"

"What did you say to Rose," Luisa says. "Why is she _leaving_ , Rafael."

"I didn't say anything except the truth. She put your life in danger, Luisa. I told you she's—"

Luisa's jaw tightens and before she knows it she explodes and says, "Can everyone stop treating me like I'm a fucking _kid_?"

Rafael's pitying her. "Lu—"

"No." Luisa stops him before he can try to hug her. " _No_. Don't you get it? I'm a grown woman! I went with her because I chose to! She couldn't have stopped this. You couldn't have stopped this. _I_ did this. So let me live with my goddamn decisions before you start blaming her."

"Okay. No, really," Rafael says when Luisa rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry. But don't blame yourself either."

"This is just the beginning of the end of the world, Raf," Luisa sighs. "You know it. So it's not going to be the last time I have to—to _kill_ something. I'd better get used to it sooner, right?"

"Don't think like that," says Rafael sadly. "Luisa. We can go somewhere else."

"Keep running? Like everyone else?" Luisa's crying now, and she finally lets Rafael touch her, lets him drape his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. "You need to take Petra and the girls out of here."

"We'll _all_ get out of here," Rafael promises. "With Rose. If you want."

Luisa wipes at her eyes. "She left," she mumbles. "You saw."

"She'll be back," Rafael says. "I know it."

And sure enough, late that night as Luisa lies restless in bed, the bedroom door creaks open. Rose doesn't say a word when she gets under the covers, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and the outside air. Luisa feels tears prick the corner of her eyes, hot and burning, and she buries her face against Rose's shoulder.

"I thought you left," she says faintly. "I thought you wouldn't come back."

Rose's hand strokes over every inch of Luisa's face—her cheeks, her chin, her jaw, her lips. "I couldn't leave," she says. There's an unspoken _you_ at the end of the sentence, but she doesn't say more, just gazes down at Luisa's face like she's afraid she'll disappear any second.

"Why did you kiss me?" Luisa asks, and the question comes out small, meek.

"Because I'm selfish," Rose says. "And I have a habit of doing stupid things."

Luisa sighs. "There you go again, with the cynical robot stuff," she says, and she shifts so she's face-to-face with Rose, nudging her nose against Rose's. "Can you admit you like me yet?"

"I'm not going to do this again, Luisa," Rose says lowly. "I already doomed your father once. I'm not going to kill you too."

"Then don't kill me," Luisa says, brushing her lips against Rose's pleadingly. "Kiss me."

Rose does, gentler this time, barely any pressure behind it until Luisa kisses her more firmly. Then Rose kisses more insistently, more urgently, hands cupping Luisa's cheeks while Luisa's hands find purchase on Rose's waist.

"Your brother is going to hate me," Rose gasps out, breath hot against Luisa's jaw when Luisa lets her hands wander.

"Don't worry about my brother," Luisa says, already working to unbutton Rose's shirt. "It's just you and me. Okay?"

Rose kisses her deeply instead of answering, and Luisa's heart soars.

.

.

.

Rose is the one who tells Rafael and Petra.

"My sister? Really?" Rafael says, and he sounds both hurt and disgusted, unable to even look in Luisa's direction. "Well it's really fucking lucky my dad's dead, right? So you can just move on and fuck his daughter when he's not even been dead—"

"Three months," Rose says. "He's been dead three months."

Rafael's jaw clenches. "Fantastic," he says. "Just what I needed to hear."

"Raf," Luisa tries, but Rafael doesn't let her finish.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Rafael asks. "You're kidding, right? This is all a big joke? Because she's—she was married to dad, Luisa. She was dad's _wife_."

"She didn't love him," Luisa says, but it's the wrong thing to say, because Rafael recoils like he's been slapped.

"I don't need to hear this." Rafael gets up violently, shoving the chair he's been sitting in to the ground.

"I don't want you to hate me, Raf," Luisa begs. "Please try to understand."

Rafael storms out.

Petra scoffs. "He overreacts about every damn thing," she mutters, glaring at her husband's retreating figure before fixing them on Rose. "So I take it you're staying."

Rose hesitates, glancing at Luisa out of the corner of her eye. "Well, for now."

"Good," Petra says. "Because I need someone to take us with my mother if my husband isn't going. And let's face it, you're the only one who can make sure we don't die."

Luisa's mouth falls open. "Hold on, wait, you can't just—"

"I'd be happy to," Rose says, and she looks at Luisa and smiles. "Killer road trip, am I right?"

Luisa tries to mirror the smile. She fails.

She also tries not to be worried, but she is, and she stays worried up until the night. It's hard to sleep, listening in on Petra and Rafael arguing with each other next door and Rose mechanically packing and cleaning guns in the corner of the room.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Luisa says when it gets to be too much, when all her thoughts jumble up too much to ignore. "If you really want to leave, you still can."

Rose doesn't look up. "Is this you pushing me away?"

"I'm not pushing you away. But I know you never meant to stay," Luisa says. "I don't want you to feel trapped just because you and I..." She trails off. "I'll let you go. If you want me to."

"And what if I don't want you to?" Rose finally drops the guns. "Luisa. I know I haven't opened up to you very much, but I'm—I'm a little fucked up. I was just supposed to make sure you and your brother were safe. I owed it to your dad. But you—you crept up on me."

"Is that a good thing?" Luisa waits until Rose comes to sit on the bed, just so she can tug Rose's face close, to feel her forehead against hers.

"I don't know yet," Rose whispers. "But I want to try. I want to try with _you_. If you're okay with that."

"I'm more than okay with that," Luisa sighs, closing her eyes. "You, me, and—Petra's criminal mom."

Rose laughs, hands sliding to Luisa's waist. "We don't have to stay," she says. "We could go anywhere. Just you and me."

"Travel the world," Luisa giggles, "fight off zombies—just the two of us? Really?"

"We can do anything we want together," Rose says, pulling back and smiling more freely than Luisa's ever seen her. "Is that cliché?"

"Sorta." Luisa's smiling too, taking Rose's hand and intertwining their fingers. "But we have all the time in the world to figure it out."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr over at [pippytmi](https://pippytmi.tumblr.com/) if u want to see me complain 24/7 about how hard writing is ~


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